Color of Blood(9)

“Yes, that’s our judgment, too,” Judy said.

“What kind of homicide rate do you have in Western Australia?”

“Well, recently the rate has jumped a bit, I’m afraid. We’re dealing with these violent drug gangs now. There were perhaps sixty or so homicides in the state last year.”

“Jeeze.” Dennis laughed. “We have that many in New York City each month.”

“Well,” Judy said, “we’re not that big of a nation.”

“You’re big enough to have swallowed Mr. Jansen.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Can you take me back to the hotel?” He looked around one final time.

“Of course. Do you still need the apartment preserved as it is? The landlord would like to rent it.”

“Let’s keep it just a while longer. Is it under guard twenty-four hours a day?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s get out of here.”





Chapter 5


Judy dropped the American off at the hotel and drove to her office on Wellington Street in Perth. She found it amusing that the AFP’s modern concrete and steel office in Perth was across the street from the red-brick colonial-style Art Gallery of Western Australia: crime and art, opposites perhaps, but also perversely similar in their reliance on creativity.

“I don’t know why men like that make me so uneasy,” she mulled. “Maybe it’s the ‘Yank thing’—he’s so bloody sure of himself.”

“Hello, Judy,” the receptionist said. “Simon called. He needs to speak to you.”

She went into her small office and closed the door.

Damn, she thought, what could possibly be wrong now?

There was a knock on the door.

“Judy?”

“Come in.”

It was Calvin Miller, her boss. “How did it go with the Yank?”

“God! He’s a bloody disaster.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He sat down. “I really am. I know you don’t need this kind of trouble.”

Judy resisted the temptation to complain about the assignment. Neil, one of the other investigators, had a light load these days, and she knew that Alex, the other investigator, was wrapping up the Bunbury auto-theft-ring case. Let it go, she told herself.

After Miller left, she reached for her office phone and dialed the stored number for Simon, her sixteen-year-old son. Even though he was in school, she would leave him a voice mail.

“Hello, Mum,” Simon said.

“Aren’t you in class?” she asked.

“No, today’s a House day, don’t you remember?”

“Oh yes, of course. But what’s wrong? Cyndi said you needed to talk to me.”

“Right. Um, Dad said he couldn’t take me this weekend. He’s been called out of town on business. Can I come home this weekend? Please!”

“Simon, I may be called away on business myself,” she said. “I know it’s difficult being in boarding school but given the situation it’s best for all of us. The last time I let you come home and stay by yourself it was a bitter experience for me, do you remember?”

“Mum, you keep bringing that up! I’ve learned my lesson. It won’t happen again, I promise. All my mates are going to be around this weekend. Please, Mum!”

“So help me God, Simon, if you slip up once more, you’ll be in serious trouble. Do you hear me?”

“Then I can come home?”

“Yes.”

“Mum, I love you.”

“I’ll pick you up after school on Friday, but if I have to work, you’ll need to take the bus home.”

“Right. Ta, Mum.”

Judy hung up and put the cell phone next to her keyboard. That bastard, she seethed. I bet Phillip’s just running off to Margaret River for a dirty weekend with his tart. That bloody bastard.

***

Dennis sat in a small office used for temporary assignments at the consulate. It barely had enough room for a gray metal desk, a black metal chair behind the desk, and a matching chair in front. He doodled on a small notebook, methodically drawing concentric circles, then filling them with hatching.

The door opened, and a young man put his head in. “Is this the right office?”

“Depends who you’re looking for?”

“A man named Cunningham.”

“I’m the guy.”

The young man came in and closed the door. He sat facing Dennis across the desk.

“Um, hi,” he said.

“So you’re Jonathan Roby?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the Jonathan Roby that’s Geoff Jansen’s best friend?”

“I don’t know if we’re best friends, but we’re, like, you know, good friends.”

“I’ve talked to some other people here, and they confirm that you two did a lot of things together,” Dennis said. “Like going to clubs, bars, the beach: things like that.”

“Yeah. We did a lot of stuff together.”

Dennis went through a long list of questions, asking about other acquaintances in the consulate, women they dated, anything at all that would connect Garder to a person involved in his disappearance, or suggest a motive.